Page 26

And it gives me something to focus on. Which is always a blessing during the holiday season. My thoughts are a dangerous place to be.

Holidays haven’t been the same since I don’t celebrate them with my family anymore. I can appreciate the festivities, even smile through them and pretend I’m having a good time, but inside?

Traditions tear open old wounds. Certain smells trigger memories. All I want to do is curl up and sleep until the new year and past my birthday while I’m at it. Then I can start the new year without replaying the worst memories I have over and over again.

But alas. I’m not a bear. Or any other hibernating mammal, for that matter.

Evan's family extended an open invitation for me to join them for Thanksgiving and Christmas, yet all those years, I never once took them up on it.

It felt weird to celebrate Thanksgiving without all the traditions that used to make our family's Thanksgiving, well, Thanksgiving. Mom used to always include us in the cooking, which is a metaphor for she gave us tasks not too dissimilar to potato peeling. Though Ella and I were usually damned to wash dishes as well.

Thank God for Nic’s dishwasher.

Mom used to say if we wanted to eat the feast, we better help make it. For some reason, her logic never applied to my dad, though. But I digress.

“See, this is what I mean.” Lauren picks up one of the potatoes I peeled, and shows it to Nic. There’s not a speck of peel left on it, because as little as I know about cooking, I know how to peel a damned potato.

"How the hell do you peel your potatoes?" I ask Lauren, genuinely curious. Does she whack at them with a knife?

"Listen, a little potato peel has never killed anyone, and life's too short for perfection." She throws the potato my way, and I catch it with ease.

Oh well, maybe she wasn't wrong and I am actually the best potato peeler out of the three of us. Either way, I won’t be mad if she continues to sing my praises.

It’s a different kind of tradition to celebrate Thanksgiving with not only my friends, but others who aren’t in contact with their families anymore.

Yet I’m still an outsider.

Because I’m the only one who was never given a choice.

Which is grand to think, considering Nic’s family knew about her fiancé’s affair with her sister and the nasty way Lauren’s parents used to treat her – but it was still their choice to cut contact.

Not me. I’m the only one who got cast out, officially disowned by the people who were supposed to love me, faults and all.

And now, here I am. Among peers on the surface, a found family on paper. And a secret I’m keeping close to my chest, which could make all of it go away within the blink of an eye. The same way it did last time.

Before I know it, the last potato has been peeled, and I’m dead weight in the kitchen.

"No offense, Kieran." Nic pats my shoulder with an amused smile. "But right now, you are of way more use to us if you keep the animals out of the kitchen."

I pout. I can so be helpful. “Listen, I might not be of great help at the stove, but I'm amazing at quality control,” I try to negotiate, eyeing the deliciousness cooking on the stove and producing the most mouthwatering smell.

"Kieran," both of them say in unison and roll their eyes.

"Okay, okay, I got it." I lift my hands defensively and walk into the living room. She decorated it for Thanksgiving with a bunch of faux leaf garlands, little ghost ornaments and carved pumpkins, tastefully placed around every surface.

"Have you been banned too?" Henry asks me from the couch, where he's keeping Pumpkin in check. I bet otherwise the little whirlwind would have already wreaked havoc in the kitchen.

"Yes," I pout and sit down by Nic's window wall, facing the lake. “Very rudely, I might add, but they're cooking a feast for us, so I can't complain.”

"Trust me, Kieran, I know the feeling," Henry says with a chuckle and leans his head against the backrest.

Dick and Jensen join me on the ground. After a few minutes of staring at the gloomy gray outside, my back hurts from sitting upright, so I lie down, right here on the ground.

Dick, for once not zooming about the living room, plants himself right on top of my chest. Jensen curls up by my side and nudges his chin against my biceps. I'm almost dozing off when more tiny paws tap their way up my legs. It’s either Nic’s second cat Cinnamon, or Chaos, the notorious ghost cat. No matter which animal, all are welcome.

"You're a pet whisperer," Henry whispers, staring at the pile forming on top of me with a grin.

Ever so subtly, I turn my head and give him a small smile. I don't want to move and for any of them to scurry off.